Road Trip.

I just figured out something that I need for myself. And I'm doing the research to make it happen next month. Or the month after. But no later than that...

I was sitting here at my modern work enviroment, day-dreaming about the sleepy, tiny town in the farmlands of Kentucky where my great grandmother lived. I can't remember the name, but I think that it was Ekron, Ky. I used to visit my great-grandmother there most summers and spend a week or two or four, eating her home-cooked meals, running all over creation in jeans and a t-shirt, gorging myself on push up ice cream pops and making best friends and worst enemies with the kids in the neighborhood.

That little town is rich with old memories for me...

I can remember wsitting outside the only general store in town, drinking grape soda and eating Ho Hos, waiting for the train to come by to smash the pennies we'd left taped to the tracks.

I can remember hiding in the woods when one of the neighborhood kids told me about a zombie movie where a zombie baby ate it's mother's breast right off. (Scared me so bad that I didn't sleep the rest of the week. I'd never seen an actual breast and the thought of someone, anyone chewing one off, scared the Holy Bejeezus out of me. I was 12 or so, back then.)

I can remember stumbling into the relics of the foundation of a house that was no longer standing and finding two snakes sunning themselves on the rocks of the ruined front steps.

I can remember staying out until the sun was long gone and catching fire flies with the other kids until I actually heard my grandmother making a slow walk around her house, yelling my name in all directions.

I remember the exciting discovery that Tart-n-Tiny's dropped into Sprite bubbled out all the carbonation, leaving tasteless water.

I remember the endless experiments with fireworks, including destroying my grandmother's flowerpots with the tiny munitions.

And I remember having one of my first kisses with the little girl who stayed with her grandparents next door. (I am ashamed to say that I can't remember her name anymore.) We were up on the hillside, looking down from the school over our grandparents yards. I'd suffered verbal taunts and abuse from the other boys for wanting to play with her instead of running off into the woods. Bored with my lack of response, they eventually left and she and I were alone. My reward for choosing to be with her was a tongue kiss. It was one of the top ten kisses I'd ever had. # 3 or 4, actually. I wanted to do it some more, but she ran off down the hill laughing. I decided that she was my girlfriend.

I was thinking about all of this and I remembered the old, two-lane road that ran beside the general store, over the train tracks, and took a right, heading out of town. Through corn fields and tobacco fields and right past a tobacoo refinery, it was one of two routes home from Ekron. I can remember crossing the train tracks and taking a small hill up and then I can't remember what comes after that.

And that great emptiness of land, which I've travelled many times before, felt like a genuine loss to me.

So, after I finish the blog entry, I'm picking a long weekend next month (or the month after) and I'm booking plane tickets. And I'm flying home to meet my dad. For a road trip.
We will go pick up two bouquets of flowers from the store and pack a light lunch. He will drive. I will ride with him.
And we will make the two hour drive back to my great grandmothers farmhouse. (Which might not be there anymore.) We will leave the flowers on her grave and on his fathers grave. (my grandfather). We will stop at the general store for sodas, just two anonymous travelers, on their way through town. Strangers in a town with around 100 residents.
We will cross over the train tracks, maybe stopping long enough to place a few pennies on the tracks and then we'll take a right and take the road that goes over the hill, as our route home. And see what's on the other side...

Just me and my dad, reconnecting with our roots.
Chatting with each other, as men.
And as father and son.
And as grandsons and great-grandsons of a grand old lady, long gone.
And as travellers.
Former residents, travelling in disguise, to this tiny town, to visit it...one more time.

Cheers,
Mr. B.


Technically speaking this isn't my great-grandmothers actual house. To my knowledge, there aren't any photos of that lovely little house. Certainly none that match the vividity of my memories. But this is a pretty close approximation of it's size and the surrounding land.

Also, there's an update on this post in the Comments Section below. The trip is set!